


See Spot Run

by HermineKurotowa



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, BAMF Jared Padalecki, Bottom Jared Padalecki, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Hurt Jensen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Jensen Ackles, Violence, Were-Creatures, werewolf jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 09:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21407890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermineKurotowa/pseuds/HermineKurotowa
Summary: After two years in metaphorical Hell, Jensen learns that real Hell actually may be a nice place.Or:The one where Jensen is a werewolf, Timothy Omundson is the baddie again, and Jared is so much BAMF, you wouldn't believe me if I'd tell you.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 94
Collections: J2 Reverse Bang





	See Spot Run

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Moon and the Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752177) by [HermineKurotowa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermineKurotowa/pseuds/HermineKurotowa). 
  * Inspired by [See Spot Run Art Post](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21415810) by [Bluefire986](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluefire986/pseuds/Bluefire986). 

> Written for the [J2_reversebang](https://j2-reversebang.livejournal.com) for [](http://bluefire986.livejournal.com/profile)[bluefire986](http://bluefire986.livejournal.com/)'s magnificent art. Go [here ](https://bluefire986.livejournal.com/21409.html)or [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21415810) and give her some love. She wanted hurt werewolf!Jensen, and that was something I couldn't resist. And then my muse went wild with the idea of an AU of my own fic: What if Jensen was the werewolf Omundson was using for his insane plan? You don't need to read The Moon and the Truth to understand this story, though.
> 
> Beta'ed by [jj1564](https://jj1564.livejournal.com/). Thank you, dear, for saving my butt again ♥
> 
> The only things I own are the remaining mistakes.
> 
> (I feel the need to explain the bottom!Jared tag. I don't care about who bottoms, but I know that some people do. There's absolutely no sex happening in the fic, but Jared mentions that he prefers to bottom. That's it.)

The wolf was slowly turning wild, his ferocity growing with each passing month.

In a sick twist of fate, they had managed to turn the usual schedule upside down, keeping the wolf in charge most of the time. Standing on the sidelines, a mere onlooker, Jensen was being condemned to watch the beast losing the last vestiges of his morality. The few days a month Jensen was allowed to be human – solely for the purpose of healing his wounds – didn't help keeping the wolf sane.

What made things worse was that Jensen could feel his own sanity slipping, waking up human only after weeks of savagery and bloodshed.

Most of the time, though, Jensen was hurting, unconscious, or drugged to the gills, so he had no way to reach out to his wolf, save for the odd minutes when his mind was lucid enough.

Jensen's life was a mess of galactic proportions. He was exhausted, bone-deep weary. If it was possible, he would have starved himself to death long ago, but they wouldn't let him. And his wolf was still fighting, still killing any hapless guy they sent into the arena, and whenever Jensen was human and realized that his wolf had fed on defeated men's flesh, he tried to cry for them. Most of the time, though, he was too out of it to care.

In the beginning, he had tried to run, to fight them, but to no avail. There were too many goons, armed to the teeth, too many drugs, and too many chains made of iron and silver. Now, he was waiting for the end to come, spending his rare human hours in a drug-induced haze, simply breathing.

Until, one day, there was another person in the cage; and when the drugs wore off he returned to the land of Sanity, which was a tiny sliver of metaphorical soil, just a small island off the continent of Lunacy.

The guy was unconscious, so Jensen could take his time looking at him. He even managed to grasp one or two thoughts, that were so fleeting recently.

Jensen really liked to look at the guy. It was something else to look at than the bars, and the concrete wall behind them, and the door in the corner wall behind the bars. He used to like the bars, their cool metal surface quenching the fires in his limbs. He liked the lights reflecting off of them, too, nice sparkles and brilliant lights.

Jensen blinked, trying to catch his thoughts that were galloping off into the sunset.

The guy was equally fettered as Jensen; hands and feet cuffed with a short length of chain between them and a longer chain leading from one ankle to an iron ring bolted onto the concrete floor. He was dressed in torn blue jeans and a black t-shirt, which made Jensen notice that he himself wore some threadbare linen pants. That was unexpected; obviously, they didn’t want him to scare off his visitor with his indecency. Jensen almost smiled at the thought.

Even though the guy was rolled into a ball, Jensen could see that he was tall and lean. His face would have been gorgeous if it wasn't twisted in pain. He must have been hurt when they caught him, which explained the faint scent of blood Jensen could pick up.

The guy was a wolf, that much was obvious. Sadly, Jensen's sense of smell was as fucked up as the rest of him because of the heavy silver chains fettering him all the time to the bars of the cage, so he was unable to discern any nuances in the guy's scent.

Due to some weird reason he didn't know, Jensen felt uneasy whenever he took a breath. Somehow, the unfamiliar scent was affecting him, but the faint, pleasant smell of blood was even worse. Jensen fought the need to stick _something_ into the guy, though he didn't know whether it was supposed to be his dick or his teeth.

His train of thoughts veered off course, contemplating the guy's physical appearance and meandering through a thicket of indecent thoughts, until Jensen came to the conclusion that he couldn't remember the last time he had had that kind of action. Namely not the one that included ripping out throats and maiming limbs.

Well, he could remember his last attempt to hook up, but if he had known the outcome, he would have kept his distance from the human asshole (pun not intended, but funny).

Jensen opened his eyes – although he couldn’t remember closing them – at the unfamiliar sound. It took him a minute to recognize another person moaning; it had always been him for the past two years screaming and crying.

He was annoyed at himself. He had fallen asleep though he only had a few precious hours with no fur nor drugs, trying to surface through a fog each time, and he didn’t want to spend them asleep if he could help it. He felt better now, though; clearer, more lucid. There was no tugging at his mind, trying to coax it down into the bog of Madness where every thought he took made squishy noises.

Now he was lucid enough to know that his metaphors sucked.

“What time is it?” a deep, husky voice slurred, making Jensen recoil in surprise.

“It’s too late,” he replied, his own voice ill-fitting like worn shoes. “When you’re here, it’s too late.”

The guy uncurled himself, scooting on the floor until his back was against the wall. He blinked bleary-eyed at Jensen and said, “You’re not my mom.”

Jensen blinked back. “No-oo...”

“I mean… I thought I was back home. With a hangover.” Sighing, he let his head drop back and winced when it hit concrete. He lifted his hand in order to feel at the back of his skull and then noticed the metal binding him for the first time, looking incredulously at the clinking cuffs and chains.

“What. The. Hell?”

Jensen couldn’t help the bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he rasped, “welcome to Hell.”

The noise of Omundson’s keys made Jensen cringe unconsciously and try to hide behind his knees pulled tightly against his chest.

Omundson was a tall, undeniably good-looking man, his wavy, dark hair already peppered with silver, his gaze sharp and intelligent. It had been the itch to fuck him that had been Jensen's undoing.

The new guy made a move to rise, which was soon abandoned when he dropped back down with a pained grunt. Jensen could imagine the aches those drugs coursing through the tall guy’s body caused, as he had already lived through them enough times.

“Good evening, Spot,” Omundson greeted. Jensen tried pushing through the bars and hiding behind them, his breath stuck in his throat. He could feel his wolf’s hackles rise. This was so not good.

The new guy snarled, but it sounded weak and out of breath.

“And good evening to you, too,” Jensen's captor addressed the newcomer. “We had some trouble to get our hands on you. You’re a rover, aren’t you? I think that’s what I’ll call you.”

Jensen snorted. _Rover_ . That appellation was equally ludicrous as Jensen's. Which was _Spot_.

Omundson stood exactly one foot beyond the reach of _Rover’s_ long arms, which was unnecessary since they were bound, and bent down at the waist. He looked thrilled, like he was watching a puppy.

“Who are you?” _Rover_ growled.

“I’m your master, Rover.” Omundson’s benevolent smile made Jensen’s skin crawl. “I just wanted to greet you in your new home. You’ll have it good if you don’t pee on the furniture.”

Jensen already knew Omundson’s weird way of treating him – as if he was the family dog. _Rover_, though, looked confused.

“You’re a fine specimen,” Omundson continued, “once you’ve learned how to spread your legs, you’ll make beautiful babies.”

Jensen grew cold all over his body. There it was, the new kind of torture he had dreaded for a very long time, not knowing what it would be. Omundson, who always found new ways to torment and humiliate Jensen, finally came up with something that never even crossed Jensen's mind before.

“Now I’m going to leave you to become acquainted with the other daddy.” Omundson turned and headed for the door. “Behave, at least for now.”

“Hey!” _Rover_ yelled over the clinking and rattling of keys and locks. “Hey! Come back, asshole! What do you mean? Hey!”

_Rover_ was kneeling on the floor, looking as if his white-knuckled grip on the bars was all that was keeping him from face-planting. Jensen noticed, though, that there were some impressive muscles bulging under the thin fabric of his t-shirt, even though his build was tall and lean. _Rover_ surely shouldn’t be underestimated in a hand-to-hand fight.

He yelled and cursed until his voice failed, then sunk back down on the floor.

Now that his tormentor was gone, Jensen dared to relax his body. He slumped back against the solid metal bars, drawing comfort from their cool steadiness, stretching out his legs in front of him. He felt so tired, weary to the bone.

“Who was that asshole?” _Rover_ asked, voice breathless and coarse.

“Like he said,” Jensen replied, his eyes sliding closed of their own volition, “he’s your master now.”

_Rover’s_ angry ranting and cursing was the last thing Jensen consciously noticed. _Fuck, the guy sure has a dirty mouth_, he thought and then nothing for a long time.

~~~~~

He could sense _Rover’s_ angry glare through the blessed oblivion of his slumber. When Jensen opened his eyes, actually feeling rested for the first time in two years, he saw the guy’s hazel eyes blazing with fury and fear from across the cage.

“How can you sleep like this?” he accused Jensen.

“After a while, you get used to everything,” Jensen replied, “and I’m getting sleep whenever I can. You’ll see it’s rarely enough they’ll grant you a bit of peace.”

“What do you mean, after a while? How long’ve you been here?”

“Two years, give and take a few weeks.”

_Rover’s_ eyes grew wide and round. “Two _years_?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah, well, time flies when you’re having fun.” Jensen couldn't remember when he had last had a decent conversation. He also couldn't remember whether being sarcastic was a genuine character trait or owed to the situation.

“But- who’s the asshole? What does he want from you? From us?”

Jensen sighed. There was no sense in disguising the truth, even more so when it haunted him in his dreams. Yes, he had been dreaming of _Rover,_ but it had been a nightmare showing him what Omundson had stolen from him. His wolf was indifferent to the subject, being more interested in fighting than fucking, which Jensen took as a sign of his worsening sanity.

“His name’s Tim Omundson. I think he used to be a high-ranking officer; I heard some goons call him general. But I don’t know for sure what he wants from me. I have a hunch, though, what he might want from _us_.”

Jensen struggled for words. It was not easy to express his assumption, especially with his throat hurting from disuse. _Rover_ was sitting and looking at him, and Jensen felt bad for him.

“What’s your name? I mean I’d call you Rover but-”

“Jared!” The reply was given hurriedly. “I’m Jared.”

“I’m Jensen. I’ve been Omundson’s favorite for about two years, but it looks like he’s changing the rules.”

“How?” Jared’s face was pinched, hard lines around his mouth indicating how close he was to losing his self-control.

“There’s an arena here, it’s like a huge dome made of iron and silver. It’s surrounded by seats and usually there’s a crowd. I think it’s rich people getting their rocks off on cage fighting.”

“They make you _fight_? In a _cage_?”

“My wolf. It’s my wolf they make fight.” Jared gasped, and Jensen continued, “I’m here because I tried to hook up with a guy in a bar. It was Omundson, and he roofied me. I woke up here, in a cage, and the next day, they dragged me into the arena to fight a wolf. He was young, just newly turned, and he stood no chance against me. I thought that was it, they’d let me go now, but instead, they dragged humans into the arena, men and women alike, without ceasing, night after night.”

Jared looked horrified. Jensen remembered his own horror vividly, those first few months of his captivity, until one day, he woke up and just couldn’t feel it anymore. Instead, he felt hollow, empty in places where there had been compassion and grief. That was the day he noticed his wolf, forced to fight humans against the werewolf nature to protect them, started to lose it.

“I’m a born wolf shifter,” Jensen carried on, his gaze turning glassy, staring into a distance only his mind could see. “They never stand a chance. Sometimes they have weapons, knives or axes, that are useless. I tear them apart limb from limb, and there’s so much blood. The sand is muddy with blood, and there are limbs all over the place, and I can hear them scream with fright at the sight of their impending doom when they’re being thrown to the wolf. Some of them fight with desperate courage, some go out with a whimper. It’s always my teeth, though, that make them bleed and cry.”

Jensen fell silent. He recalled the red haze of his wolf’s frenzy tinting the world red, the sound of bones snapping and flesh tearing, the smell of guts and gore. He remembered how eager his wolf got to _killkillkill_ after he started losing it. After he had literally tasted blood.

He could feel his beast preen, waiting for the moon so he could tear into juicy flesh again, hunt and-

“Jensen?” Jared’s voice was pulling him back from the edge of the precipice that was his wolf’s mind.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Jensen cleared his throat. “Omundson never told me what his agenda was, but I think he used me to create werewolves. To kill humans for other humans’ pleasure and turn those that didn’t die into an army of wolf shifters.”

“And? Was he successful?”

“You should know the chances of surviving. I think in the past couple of years, there were, like, six or seven people that came out alive and whole. The rest died screaming.”

There was another pause when Jensen stared at a point above Jared’s shoulder, seeing nothing, but hearing everything. “The walls are thin,” he whispered.

The door locks rattled again, catching Jensen unawares. The couple of goons that were usually handling him brought two plates with food and two water bottles.

The taller guy, Rich, was brandishing a taser so the shorter one, Rob, was in charge of feeding today. They didn’t look like they were capable of the things they did to him and the unfortunate humans, but Jensen knew to keep clear of them as far as he could in the tight confines of his cage.

Jared eyed them menacingly and growled, the chains clanging when he grabbed the bars and turned around in order to keep them in his line of sight.

The goons didn’t say a word, which was quite odd. Usually, they provoked and abused Jensen whenever they could, hoping he’d take the bait, but this time, they remained silent.

Rob put the plates and the bottles on the floor and pushed them through the bars, then both of them left.

Today, it was bread, cheese and an apple. The food never was as bad as one would imagine in Jensen's situation. Apparently, Omundson didn’t want him to fall sick due to malnutrition.

Jensen opened the bottle of water next to his plate and drank greedily since he was thirsty, then he tore off a bite of bread and shoved it in his mouth.

“It’s probably spiked,” he said.

Jared stared, then replied, “Why are you eating it, then?”

“It doesn’t matter if I eat it or not, they always find a way to drug me. When I refused to feed myself, they pumped gas into the room. Or they used a dart gun to shoot me. When I eat, I get some nutrients at least, and they don’t have to force feed me.”

Jensen couldn’t suppress the shiver the memory of the time he tried to starve himself to death caused. They made pretty sure he was playing his part in his own torture and he stopped feeling ashamed of it a long time ago. Now it was about surviving, and surviving he did, trying to keep at least a part of his sanity on the way.

After unscrewing the bottle and smelling at its content, Jared obviously decided to not take the risk, screwing the top back on and dropping the bottle carelessly back down on the floor.

“So,” Jared spoke, startling Jensen. Damnit, he was not used to another person’s presence anymore. “You said Omundson may have changed his plans. What did you mean?”

“Yeah, well, since obviously his plan to turn people didn’t work, he’s resorting to breeding now. I assume you’re an Omega?”

Jared stared. His eyes were wide, with so many colors in them, they made something stir deep down in Jensen’s guts.

“Not quite,” he replied hesitantly, “I*m not an Omega. I like to bottom, but I’m not uhm, able to carry.”

After a short pause, Jensen laughed. It was forced and bitter, but it was his first laughter in two years. “No cute little pups, then. Uncle Omundson will be so disappointed.”

He couldn't imagine Omundson’s wrath when he found the blunder in his plan. Omegas were rare, so when Omundson captured Jared, thinking he was one, it meant he couldn’t get his greedy hands on a Beta, a female.

Jensen felt dizzy with joy. Even after his long captivity, he couldn’t imagine the punishment Omundson would dole out, but he didn’t care. This was the first thing his tormentor wasn’t able to have, and the thought made Jensen's mind reel.

Also, he felt hot.

“Okay,” Jared said, his gaze roaming the room and cage, “we still have a couple of days until full moon. We can get out of here.”

“Nonono,” Jensen said, shaking his head in order to stop another bubble of laughter in his belly from rising. “Moonrise is in less than twelve hours. Can’t you feel it?”

Jared stared again, giving Jensen a clear view of those pretty colors in his eyes; blue, and green, and gold. “Crap, I think I lost a couple of days.”

Jared was weird, Jensen thought. He couldn't feel the moon’s tug at his bones, yet he somehow convinced a werewolf-obsessed maniac that he was a rare male capable of bearing pups. And he was also hot as Hell.

For the first time, Jensen noticed the bulge under the torn jeans, and it made his mouth water and his dick stir.

He also noticed his wolf perking up and taking a sudden interest in the other shifter.

“Jensen? You okay?” Jared’s voice was worried.

“I don’t feel so good,” Jensen replied, moaning. There was another pang of lust making his dick rise to full mast almost instantly. He could feel his wolf’s coat press through his skin and his fangs drop. The strain of keeping the beast in check made him break out in a cold sweat. It didn’t help that the temperature in the room was suddenly increasing to Hell level.

“I’m afraid we don’t have the time, the moon’s too close.” Panting, Jensen continued, “They must have drugged me with some kind of Viagra, and it’s affecting my wolf.”

Jared was scooting as far away from Jensen as he was able to. Clever boy, but his effort was futile; Jensen’s wolf would be able to break the chains easily.

This shifting was painful, different from usual ones when he chose to shift or not. It was forced by drugs, still hours too early, and against Jensen’s will. He could feel his bones bend and his vertebrae realign. He was wheezing, and cursing, and moaning, refusing to bow to the inevitable. But his wolf was stronger, too aroused to listen to reason.

Jensen was losing the fight, and then he was lost.

_He_ stretched _his_ legs and _his_ back, shaking off the shreds of the human clothing and tearing the ridiculous chains.

_He_ knew _he_ didn’t count time like humans did, but _he_ also knew it had been a very long time since the urge to breed outshone the one to kill. The heat in _his_ groin spread deliciously throughout _his_ body, trying to find release.

The Omega would be perfect. _He_ could smell him, spicy, enticing, but not completely _wolf_. There was no time for dwelling on this mystery, though, when there was an Omega to fuck.

_He_ pounced.

The Omega was quicker and stronger than he looked, wrapping the chain between his wrists around _his_ throat. _He_ was only turned on more by the resistance, could almost taste his blood on _his_ tongue.

_He_ increased _his_ struggle to free _him_ self, but the Omega really was strong, _he_ ’d give him that. _He_ scratched flesh with _his_ claws and caught arms between _his_ teeth, and still, the Omega held on, tightening the chains around _his_ throat. Soon, _he_ didn’t fight to get free in order to mate ruthlessly with the Omega, but to draw another breath.

It was futile, though. Those vise-like arms didn’t move an inch, muscles bulging like steel under the smooth skin, making it harder to breathe with each passing second. And then the world grew gray, and dark, and nothing.

~~~~~

Jensen woke up with a painful throat, tender to the touch. His wolf was still unconscious, and how glad Jensen was about it. Little fucker just got what he deserved, and Jensen knew full well that he was being unfair, but he just was glad he could be alone in his head for a short while.

He must have been unconscious only for a couple of minutes, because he was unfettered and no goons were storming the room. Groaning, he turned onto his back. His whole body was an aching mess with his throat hurting the worst.

Jared was crouching in his corner, eyeing Jensen suspiciously.

“It’s okay,” Jensen croaked, waving a hand tiredly, “it’s over, I’m all right.”

“Thank God,” Jared sighed. “Now it’s getting interesting,” he continued at hearing the commotion on the other side of the door. He grinned. “You know there’s this huge flaw in this Omundson guy’s plan. It’s not the misconception that I was an Omega, it’s that I was a wolf shifter at all. I think this charade has been going on long enough.”

Jared stood when the goon troop was flooding into the room, and fuck, he was _tall_.

Behind a row of a dozen gunmen, Omundson walked into the room, positioning himself in front of the cage and shaking his head slowly as if he was reprimanding pups.

“Now, now,” he said, using the same tone of voice Jensen's mom used to use when he was being really stupid. “You boys are not being good.”

“Why?” Jared asked. “Because we don’t want to be abused?”

“Because it would make life easier if you’d do what you’re told.”

Jared laughed. It was silvery and joyful, and it definitely made Jensen's flesh crawl.

“That’s exactly,” Jared replied, “what my dad says, but he never could handle me either.”

Jared advanced two steps, smiling sweetly with a gleam in his eyes. Jensen could see them clearly, and he was mesmerized.

Jared’s eyes were gray-green and blue, with golden spots that were glowing. First, Jensen thought it was an effect of light, but no, Jared’s eyes were definitely _glowing_.

Omundson frowned. His goons looked nervous. They had definitely noticed this _thing_ with Jared’s eyes, too.

“You know,” Jared continued, talking casually as if he was making small talk, “my dad was pretty pissed off when I didn’t join the family business. I wanted to travel the world.”

He was twirling the chain between the cuffs around his wrists, playing with it. “But I won’t tell you my life story, I’m not the villain here, monologuing about his nefarious plan. I prefer being the hero rescuing the damsel.”

Jared glanced at Jensen, a smile dimpling his cheeks. “Hey!” Jensen protested.

Then, Jared rolled his shoulders and just spread his arms, and the iron chain… _popped_ open, as did the one between his feet when he took one huge step.

Jared facing their oppressors gave Jensen a clear view of his back. The muscles under his t-shirt moved and rippled, the fabric tore open, and… _something_ grew out of his shoulder blades.

Jensen gasped.

It was _wings_ . Huge fucking _wings_ appeared behind Jared, bluish-gray and black-tipped feathers gleaming in their own light.

While Omundson shrank back horrified, his goons started shooting about, but Jared just laughed, and unfazed he pushed the cage bars apart with inhuman strength. He started to tear anyone that he could get hold of to shreds, literally ripping them to pieces.

Jensen couldn’t believe his eyes. Everything happened within seconds, and his mind was reeling at the pandemonium in front of him.

Searing pain brought him back on track. One of the bullets the idiots were shooting all over the place had buried itself in his thigh. A moment later, another bullet hit his shoulder. The impact was fierce enough to wake Jensen's wolf.

The beast was seriously pissed, just as Jensen was.

Jared, hearing Jensen's anguished cry, turned and saw his injuries. His face darkened.

Roaring, he seized the last, terrified gunman and threw him against the wall without further ado, breaking his neck. “Omundson!” he yelled angrily.

Omundson was standing with his back against the wall, shaking his head in denial and clutching his arm where blood was seeping through his fingers.

Panting through the pain, Jensen noticed with satisfaction that Omundson had been hurt by his own men’s hands. And now it was Jared’s hand that was hurting the fucker.

In no way was Jared a werewolf. Like any other shifter, Jensen was stronger than humans, but Jared was ridiculously strong, gripping Omundson with one hand and lifting him foot-high in the air without even breaking a sweat.

Besides, he was bleeding from multiple wounds that didn’t even seem to bother him. And keeping in mind those huge-ass wings on his back. Yeah, no way Jared was a shifter.

“Omundson.” Jared’s voice was a low, menacing growl, his posture confident and powerful. Whatever creature he was, Jensen was sure he was a superb specimen.

Omundson turned a deeper shade of blue when Jared squeezed a bit tighter.

“Jensen,” he said, “will you do me the honor?”

Jensen took a moment to understand, then he rose slowly to his feet. His wolf was eager to rip their tormentor apart, but Jensen wanted to participate in his demise. He gingerly moved through the twisted bars and closer to the men until he stood in front of Omundson, staring in those fearful eyes.

“Any last words?” Jared asked. Omundson couldn’t reply and Jensen didn’t want him to.

His wolf deserved to execute the kill, but Omundson didn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death, not with the amount of people he had had murdered using Jensen as a weapon.

The negotiation was short; they instantly agreed, united in their need for revenge. _He_ lifted _his_ hand so it was clearly visible from Omundson’s point of view and let _his_ claws grow. The urge to rip and tear was almost unbearable, but _he_ trusted _his_ human to decide on their enemy’s verdict.

The light was gleaming off _his_ sharp claws and _he_ could see the exact moment the meaning had been understood. _He_ grinned, well, wolfishly.

Then _he_ closed _his_ fingers save for one to a fist, putting that one finger against the enemy’s throat. _He_ could feel the muscles work under the sweaty skin, trying to swallow down the horror, and fear, and the air that was being denied.

_His_ claw’s sharp tip, oh so sharp and smart, was scratching a tiny wound, barely an inch, just beneath Jared’s fingers right into Omundson’s bulging carotid.

_He_ growled, expressing his disgust and hate, watching the spraying blood paint the wall and the world red. _He_ was satisfied.

Jared’s face was twisted into a disgusted grimace, but he kept his arm still, didn’t move it an inch for the whole time it took Omundson to bleed out even though his nails tried to scratch off the skin of Jared’s arm.

Jensen retracted the claws and watched. He remembered the hubris and arrogance he faced whenever he met Omundson. He remembered the derisive names and the abuse he’d had to endure. Now he was free from the cage and chains, he just had to leave the compound, while his captor was slowly losing his blood and life, just like a team of his goons had.

Jensen stared at the dying man, trying to feel _something_. His wolf was giddy with happiness, frolicking like a little pup, but Jensen just watched emotionlessly. He felt drained, tired.

All the emotions, though, that Jensen couldn’t muster, were clearly depicted on Omundson’s face, and the last one was pure horror.

“See you in Hell,” Jared growled. “I’ll tell Gramps to keep an eye on you.”

As his tormentor’s last wheezing breath died away, Jensen finally felt satisfied, accomplished.

Jared was still holding the body but Jensen, devoid of strength, was almost toppling over. In the same smooth movement, Jared dropped the lifeless body that used to be a vile creature, worse than any beast Jensen ever had encountered, and picked Jensen up, bridal style.

Jensen squeaked with surprise. “Let me down,” he protested meekly, “I can walk.”

“You can?” Jared asked, looking down with eyes full of concern.

“No,” Jensen admitted. His leg was definitely not capable of bearing his weight any longer.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Jared said, folding his wings and starting to make his way out.

Jensen soon settled in that gentle grip. It was nice to feel soft hands after two years of being manhandled and abused. Jared’s body heat keeping Jensen's own body warm was pleasant, too.

He now had the opportunity to look intently at the man, the _creature_, that was carrying him swiftly, yet cautiously, through basement corridors.

Jared looked human, just like Jensen looked human most of the time. But when Jensen stuck a finger through the hole in his t-shirt a bullet made just minutes ago, he could feel only smooth skin.

Jared chuckled. “Stop it, I’m ticklish.”

“What are you? Are you a Nightcrawler?”

Jared grimaced. “I prefer lesser demon. I left Hell because I preferred life on Earth, but sometimes I think humans create Hell on Earth better than Gramps ever could.”

Jensen gasped. He had never encountered a _demon_, but he had heard rumors and stories, and now found that most of them were at least exaggerated, if not false.

“You know,” Jared continued, slowly taking some stairs to the first floor, “with demons, it’s kind of like with shifters. There are born ones, that have to follow less rules the older they get, and there are turned ones, that are more like the savage and bloodthirsty monsters everyone knows from the movies.”

Looking down at Jensen, he smiled. His eyes were soft and shining. “I’m a pure-blooded demon and old enough to be in full control of my powers and actions.”

Jensen was awestruck. All he could do was stare at Jared.

“Have you ever been to Hell?” Jared said, entering a living room. Carefully lowering Jensen down on a leather couch, he started prodding at the gunshot wounds. “It’s a nice place when you’re not a damned soul. I can treat your wounds at my parents’ place, and then we can get a message to your family.”

Jensen hissed. Though Jared’s long fingers were careful and nimble, they still hurt assessing the damage.

“Sorry. We need to get the bullets out.”

There was some commotion outside; yelling, and running, and more yelling. While Jensen dropped his head back against the couch, closing his eyes and wishing for more unconsciousness, Jared closed the door to the room and carried, fucking _carried_, a huge-ass chest of drawers in front of it, effectively barricading it.

“Okay, that will buy us some time,” he said and turned back to the wounded shifter.

Jensen blamed it on blood loss and exhaustion as his mouth opened from its own volition, and he said, “You know, we didn’t even have a first date and you already want to introduce me to your parents.”

The blush he could _hear_ in Jared’s reply made him smile. “Uhm, I’m, uh, I think we should get the Hell out of here.”

He bent down to lift Jensen up, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

Jensen was looking at him, his green eyes shining with pain. He also had started sweating. This whole being hurt thing didn’t sit well with him.

“I still want to know one thing. How come Omundson mistook you for a werewolf?”

“Uh, well.” Jared cleared his throat. “It’s easier to blend in when I have, well, sex. I can pass for human, but it’s easier when I take on some features from my, uh, partner. Last week, I broke up with a fling that happened to be a wolf shifter. That’s why the asshole assumed I was one, too.”

“Oh,” Jensen said. That made sense, somehow. He was too tired to think clearly and just let himself be picked up again and cradled against Jared’s firm chest. He noticed that his eyes were closed and decided it was too much trouble to open them.

The room suddenly grew pleasantly warm.

“Okay,” Jared said, “I opened the portal. Keep your eyes closed so you don’t get sick.”

That was a plan Jensen could approve of.

“Gramps will be so delighted I’m bringing a friend with no halo.”

“Jared? Who’s your grandfather?” Jensen had the strong feeling that it was important who Jared’s relatives were.

“Gramps?” Jared’s voice was joyful. “He’s Satan.”

“Satan’s your grandfather,” Jensen mumbled, already half asleep.

“Yeah, you’ll like him. When you feel better, we can go see him torture Omundson.”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Jensen agreed, as Jared carried him through the portal.

  
  


~fin~


End file.
